Feminist Solidarities after Modulation

Front matter

Santos Bruss

FEMINIST

LE

Contents

INTRODUCTION Digital Technologies as Globalization: A Universal Paradigm? - 15

2 Modulating Relations for Germany: Race, Class, Gender in Modular Circulation - 81

3 Unity after Modulation: Indigenous Technologies and the Greater Common Good - 115

CHAPTER 1 Ihe Internet Imaginary and Digital Modernity

It might seem counterintuitive to begin a story on solidarity with imaginaries of technology. “Solidarity” in its common usage suggests a relationship between individuals or groups, where technology might be a modality of expressing that solidarity, but is not— de facto —an involved actor. But given the recurring proclamations about reverse racism, cancel culture, or freedom of speech under threat, one might ask, How do technologies allow for, mediate, and are thus actively involved in the im/possibilities of solidarity across difference? If, as Richard Rorty (1989) has once claimed, solidarity is the opposite of an objective knowledge claim, then media technologies must be understood as central assemblages that construct certain knowledges as objective, and thus complicit in creating the differentiation Rorty proposes. Solidarity, understood here as an acknowledgment of interdependencies and a form of knowledge production,’ is a capacity that emerges from material infrastrucı Let’s take seriously Richard Rorty’s (1989) claim that solidarity is the opposite of objectivity. Rorty frames both as points of reference, but states that objectivity appeals to universality, to something that reaches beyond the specific community within which a subject may find herself. However, given Wynter’s intervention, it seems more than reasonable to assess that tures, common spaces, and shared recognition of more-thanhuman interdependency. If there is something specific in the way new technologies describe, interpellate, or create subjects, then it is also involved in the construction of identities and differences, of knowledge about such differences and how they are related to other markers of recognition. Ifidentity has been central to questions of solidarity, then I argue that we must come to terms with how technologies co-construct identities and thus mediate solidarity.

This chapter will develop a critique of the modern assumption of technology as objective, disembodied, and as the other to culture. This assumption situates technology as somewhat ahistorical, and has allowed technologists to perpetuate a reification of technology as newness, which detaches the infrastructure from the bodies it makes intelligible in certain ways. I want to begin by instead showing how technology is involved in the production of identity, collectivity, and regimes of recognition that allow for bodies to emerge in specific, gendered, and racialized ways. I will do so through two stories central to the early internet imaginary: John Perry Barlow’s A Declaration of Independence of Cyberspace and Julian Dibbell’s A Rape in Cyberspace. Both texts can be read as foundational for an ideology of community that expresses itself with and through the growing internet and could in first instance be seen as specific to that infrastructure. When we read these two narratives in parallel, however, these stories are indicative of a discourse that proclaims the internet a motor of a second Enlightenment and thus also draws upon the problematics of the first Enlightenment; of modernity and the infrastructural counterpart that made it all possible — colonial violence and the creation of racial hierarchies. In light of such

Rorty was in fact talking about objectivity as a reformulation of the figure of man. If solidarity thus takes place either with regard to an unmarked male figure — the “objectivity” outside of the social group — or with regard to the chosen community/peer group, then solidarity is always present and expresses itself as a relationality that requires sustenance, infrastructure, and collectivity as much as it requires modalities of expression that can be considered embodied knowledge production.

a longer arc that influences the way early cyberculture came to frame the internet, the early discourses on internet governance develop a collective subjectivity that rearticulates white and male prototypicality in what Wynter has called “the figure of man” as the “overrepresentation of the human” (Wynter 2003). If solidarity relies on recognition of identity, these stories propose that the unmarking of whiteness and maleness can hinder solidarity relations, because the constructions of difference happen within a technological backend that fails to make itself public, known, situated, and specific.

In such an understanding, it becomes clear that the discourses on technology that have recently emerged around ar objectivity and superintelligence are in no way new, and weren't new at midcentury, when a1 first became an aspirational quality of machine development, and not in the 1990s, when the internet became the utopian nonspace to break with all problems of the flesh. In the 1950s, cyberneticians and A1 theorists in the United States (and perhaps less famously in Germany) — among them anthropologists, neuroscientists, philosophers, and mathematicians — situated technology as external yet parallel to the human brain and its capacities. Norbert Wiener is perhaps one of the most famous to suggest a computational similarity to the brain, and his Anti-Aircraft Predictor constructed this now infamous brain metaphor within what Peter Galison has called “the ontology of the enemy” (Galison 1994) — a notion that included not only identifying but actually predicting the enemy during World War II. From the specific calculation of flight routes for enemy airplanes, Wiener not only deduced a formula to predict enemy activity but actually derived an entire cognitive model that he and others would later project onto societal structures. The brain metaphor in cybernetics thus signaled toward early positions on what it meant to think and therefore be (with) in a computerized world, a metaphor that draws on the notions of rationality characterized by Enlightenment philosophy. That such metaphors are implicated in constructions of race and gender is perhaps most apparent in the famous Turing test, in which a human spectator needs to identify woman, man, or computer, through their respective performances of intelligence (Genova 1994; Traiger 2000; Köppert 2020).

Against this backdrop, the brain metaphor already suggests a form of gender and racial expression that I want to explicitly unravel throughout this chapter. Phrases such as “information wants to be free” commonly attributed to internet visionary Stewart Brand, came to signal the way information was attributed with its own agency that would make it travel, connecting people “from mind to mind,’ as an early internet advertisement claimed. But it was the rise of connectivity across distance that the early internet allowed for, which would make the superiority of the mind, already propositioned within the brain metaphor, become explicit in all of its problematic facets. And so the cyberlibertarians who believed in the power of technology to bring the world together also created a discourse that segregated the virtual world of early cyberspace from real-life politics and constructed a new origin story that would reimagine the internet subject’s relationship with real-world politics and histories. The story of questioning digital solidarities thus begins here (but it does not continue in a historical teleology) at the cyberutopian proposition of a new world that would arguably change the way humans encounter each other, merely because the flawed and problematic bodies were now irrelevant.

John Perry Barlow’s Declaration of Independence of Cyberspace is a document that both exemplifies the cyberlibertarian vision of technological utopianism and shows how this vision was entangled in an articulation of “prototypical whiteness” (Browne 2015, 110), an unmarking of central features of what it meant to be a white male subject. Read through Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang, I present Barlow’s Declaration — an exemplary document central to the whole ideological apparatus that comes to be known as “cyberlibertarianism” —as a “settler move to innocence” (Tuck and Yang 2012, 9) that connects internet universalism to a renewed whiteness not tainted by colonialism or indebted to the anticolonial liberation struggles. If the Declaration is exemplary of early internet culture’s prototypical whiteness, its inherent gender-prototypicality becomes more explicit when read through an early instantiation of gender-based violence in the tale of A Rape in Cyberspace. Julian Dibbell’s famous account of disembodied acts of violence and misogyny must be seen as the undertones to Barlow’s call to “enlightened self-interest” (Barlow 1996, n.p.). And the cybernetic privileging of mind over body reveals that the early internet pioneer’s imaginaries of disembodiment, informational agency, and self-rule both appropriate and override decolonial and feminist notions of freedom and connectivity. In this sense, male fantasies of disembodiment and colonial fantasies of settler innocence are inscribed into and come to shape how the internet imaginary would spread across the globe as disembodied and delocalized community, as free speech and objective information.

The juxtaposition of the two narratives by Barlow and Dibbell, the one of endless freedom and the other of gender-based violence regulated within a community seemingly without rules, presents an understanding of technology beyond its simplified delegation of being mere math or mere infrastructure. Instead, technology must be seen as a practice of instating certain parameters that allow for or undermine the terms and conditions of solidarity. Through these two case studies, a longer genealogy of the digital can emerge, which allows me to reconnect the central modalities of the digital (as categorization and differentiation) with modernity and the Enlightenment moment that Barlow calls upon, but also with the structures of violence that ground modernity within the realities of colonial violence. Once this line of development becomes clear as a modality of colonial governance, the final part of this chapter opens up to a questioning of Gilles Deleuze’s claim that the “societies of control” (Deleuze 1992) he sees crystallizing in the early 1990s formulate a mode of oppression that is unique and new. The chapter closes with a discussion of modulation as a concept that describes a material agency to partition, (dis)identify, and normalize the interpellation of subjects in hierarchical form, something that comes to inform what we today understand as identity politics.

The Californian Ideology: A Historical Rupture?

The joining of universality, newness, and immateriality of information was prominently hailed by the hacker culture of the 1990s. As Fred Turner (2008) has shown, 1968 counterculture is directly linked to the technological utopianism of the 1990s and its belief in rationality, enlightenment, and factuality of technological infrastructures. This suggestion of continuities allows me to take a closer look at the ruptures proposed by its prominent figures. One of the central actors manifesting that continuity is John Perry Barlow, founder of the Electronic Frontier Foundation and proponent of a deregulated internet that would finally fulfil, as hopes were, the promises of “ethics, enlightened self-interest, and the commonwealth” (Barlow 1996, n.p.). This ideology, most pertinently illustrated in Barlow’s Declaration of Independence of Cyberspace, rearticulates the modern divisions of body and mind and posits subjectivity in line with notions of rationality and common sense. It thus rearticulates white male fantasies of disembodiment and actively works toward discarding the situated, embodied realities from which identities, even Californian hacker identities, emerge as intelligible. *

2 Barlow, involved in the 1960s band The Grateful Dead, Californian free speech activist, and internet pioneer, embodies one of the most obvious connections between 1968 counterculture and technological utopianism, and he must be read as just one of many protagonists that positioned themselves as political entities of the future, while employing language and propositions that very much drew upon problematic framings of the past. Barlow is considered an icon of the early net politics movement (Barbrook and Cameron 1995; Goldsmith and Wu 2006) and an important figure of internet history who enjoyed fame and popularity beyond the borders of the United States. The centrality of his persona is important in understanding the influence of his manifesto. As a young man, he was centrally involved in the events of the student revolt. In the early 2000s, notably after the publication of Declaration, he traveled to Brazil to assist the Green Party’s minister of culture and popular musician Gilberto Gil in establishing an open-source government initiative. The campaign was considered a major success under leftist head of government Lula da Silva and was celebrated among net activists as a model project for a future-oriented, democratic, and transparent administrative shifts. His speeches were con-

The short manifesto was published in 1996 to protest against the Clinton administrations recent efforts to regulate online content as means of expression, and the tract spread rapidly. It is estimated that within three months, 5,000 websites carried copies of the Declaration; a short time later, this number was already estimated at 40,000 copies online. The publication was a reaction to the new Telecommunications Act of 1996, with which the Clinton administration attempted to regulate internet content and competition in the emerging market for the very first time. The manifesto itself articulates utopian promises of a world without discrimination, but it is quickly forgotten that it actually responds to an attempt to prevent the dissemination of obscene and indecent content, much of which is rampant in the form of hate speech and sexual violence today. The Telecommunications Act was propositioned to regulate internet space rather like any other public media outlet already was being monitored.’ Barlow’s proposition that this act was an attack on internet freedom — meaning, among other things, freedom of expression — seems less utopian considering today’s online climate, where reports are piling up on how platforms thrive on hate speech, populism, and fake news. Most individuals lamenting the decline of freedom of expression and freedom of speech today seem to be conservatives and proponents of the New Right, where individuals and institutions alike see sidered highly influential for Aaron Swartz, another famous figure in the fight for internet freedom. Barlow was a role model for all these initiatives and people of great importance in the net world, and his funeral is said

to have resembled a festival attended by close friends, companions of the movement, and masses of admirers.

3 In chapter 4, we will come to see how obscenity and indecency are also situated norms that regulate gender and racial expression. But for now, Barlow’s text must be considered a curiosity all the more, when considering that the regulatory paradigms largely consisted of rules that had already been in place for television and newspapers, and which would theoretically also have been a mechanism to curb slurs and hate speech. Possibly, we can sense the effects of Barlow’s intransigence to this day, when the internet is continuously imagined to be ungovernable, despite mounting evidence that platforms thrive off polemic or polarizing content and thus target and nudge individuals in quite influential ways.

the potential to speak freely under attack by a new type of (leftist) cancel culture that needs to be met with authoritarianism.* With these problematic propositions in mind, a close reading of Barlow’s Declaration shows that free speech is a concept that is often deployed in service of the unmarked subject of prototypical whiteness/maleness. The fact that Barlow has been styled a countercultural hero thus proposes a questionable imaginary not only of technology but also of the terms of inclusion and freedom that arise within infrastructures of whiteness as they are mediated and (re)produced by technology, precisely in the aftermath of the central period of anticolonial struggle and its theoretical development into what is commonly termed “identity politics”

Written in the aftermath of 1968, it is then perhaps not surprising that the Declaration posits Barlow and his peers as a brave community that casts off the oppressor’s shackles. It begins with the following, seemingly defiant claim:

Governments of the Industrial World, you weary giants of flesh and steel, I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind. On behalf of the future, I ask you of the past to leave us alone. You are not welcome among us. You have no sovereignty where we gather.

[...] Cyberspace consists of transactions, relationships, and thought itself, arrayed like a standing wave in the web of our communications. Ours is a world that is both everywhere and nowhere, but it is not where bodies live.

We are creating a world that all may enter without privilege or prejudice accorded by race, economic power, military force, or station of birth.

4 This was more or less verbatim the response the right-wing media outlet Fox News had to news of Elon Musk becoming Twitter's largest shareholder and revealing his plans to continue to buy shares so as to take over the company in 2022.

We are creating a world where anyone, anywhere may express his or her beliefs, no matter how singular, without fear of being coerced into silence or conformity.

Your legal concepts of property, expression, identity, movement, and context do not apply to us. They are all based on matter, and there is no matter here. (Barlow 1996, n.p.; my emphasis)

Despite the grandeur of Barlow’s rhetorical gesture, the significance of his persona might already suggest that the Declaration was more than the appeal to a forming community of ex-hippies. Barlow's vision became a hegemonic narrative that would serve, among other things, to make a technological infrastructure developed by the military-industrial complex available for general use. But from the start, it can be said that the Declaration was not a brave statement by a niche revolutionary. In fact, the early Tv ad by the internet provider mcı during the Super Bowl in 1997 suggests that his declaration was not only heavily circulated, but actually became the dominant ideology through which the internet was made sense of.’ The mcı commercial presented a vision of the internet where a wide variety of people testified that the internet would be a place where people can communicate “from mind to mind,’ in a place in which “there is no race” and “there is no gender. People in wheelchairs with computers, women, Black people, and a young person speaking in sign language, all attest to the new boundlessness of the internet, largely brought about by a liberation from embodied existence that is framed as constraining — in particular for people identified to be different.

As the quote above from Barlow illustrates, he, too, sees liberation in the removal of the body from the site of publicity. In Barlow’s words, the disappearance of the body from com-

5 The advertisement can still be viewed on YouTube, https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=io V MoeCbrig. I give thanks to Wendy Chun, who has signaled toward this advertisement as the counterpart to Barlow's ideology in several of her lectures.

putational vision within early text-based computation enabled openness, freedom, and limitless information, which he relates directly to the “Golden Rule” of treating others in a way that you might want for this treatment to be universal law. In this reference to Kant’s categorical imperative, Barlow positions the internet as the motor of a second Enlightenment. His “home of the mind” is framed as a solution that overcomes the real-world problems of nation-state orders, which he proclaims to be backward and discursively delegates to the past. Through his invocation of a new “frontier,” where “all may enter without privilege” (Barlow 1996, n.p.), the internet is conceived as a real-world utopia that remains successful, among other things, because it is now populated by better subjects — subjects whose central difference is that they act merely as “minds” and are able to leave the fleshed materiality behind. In a mitigated form, this notion convinced early internet sociologists of the possibility that social problems based on forms of othering would disappear through immersion in virtual worlds.‘

Through the power of hindsight, evidence to the contrary has accumulated. Trying out another identity does not necessarily lead to understanding it, and this notion might also have been validated by preceding forms of identity tourism as made available through video games, role-play, literature, and theater. However, Barlow’s Declaration even goes one step further by actually saying that notions of difference will disappear, because the bodies do. Barlow demonstrates a biosocial belief that forms of discrimination, such as racism, sexism, and transphobia, are tied to the bodies biologically different, to aesthetic variety and deviation from a white, able-bodied, cis-representing male. Barlow propagates an understanding of racism (and misogyny,

6 Prominently, Sherry Turkle (1997) explained that practices such as “identity tourism,’ the trying on of other identities in chat rooms or via avatars, would allow for the exploration of other forms of self and, by superimposing other identities — other attributions of race, gender, and so on — would provide for greater empathy as the experiential world of such “others” became accessible.

transphobia, etc.) that remains tied to a biological construction of race, one that constructs racial difference as emerging from within the body in genetic form. In doing so, he fails to account for the historical emergence of race as a material and discursive formation, and rearticulates a vision ofthe human as rational, as the Western colonial figure of man (Wynter 2001).

In this biogenetic order, an underlying belief remains that fundamental difference emerges from the biological material that makes people legible as darker and lighter skinned, or as women or men. Even if this belief may acknowledge that hierarchies between these bodies are wrong or constructed, it draws upon histories of racialization that have commonly proposed the raced body as less rational, as mere flesh, and biological differences as essential (Spillers 1987; Weheliye 2014). What Wynter calls the “biogenetic principle,” the connection of race and gender with principles of biogenetic materiality, suggests an unchanging quality to what it means to have race or gender that is limiting if not understood in connection to the “sociogenic” (Wynter 2001). Mere biology, or biogenesis, would negate the several emergent qualities that understandings of race and gender have undergone since they first became categories of distinction. Indeed, the biogenetic principle has been adamantly deconstructed for gender dynamics through queer and trans activism, but holding onto it negates a deeper material concern that Cheryl Harris has discussed through the concept of “whiteness as property” (Harris 1993). With Harris, we can come to understand that whiteness not only occupies disembodied universality, but actually marks a division between the haves and have-nots. This is an inequality, which is eschewed by Barlow’s optimistic turn to disembodiment. Effectively, whiteness disappears within Barlow’s manifesto to reduce any form of online violence to a limited, ahistoric dispute over manners and the Golden Rule.

Barlow seems oblivious to the fact that, as the manifesto was spreading like wildfire, the first conferences on the digital divide were being held in parallel, discussing concerns about the lack of connection for women and for people in the Global

South (Chun 2018). Internet distribution is still a mirror image of problematics discussed in critiques of global aid and development work— the adaption to a certain framework of information and discourse is often a requirement for people of the Global South to gain access to the often paternalistically distributed technological and digital commons. This paternalism expresses itself in the form of reduced content or prescribed modes of use through programs such as Facebook’ Free Basics’ or One Laptop per Child. These initiatives often fail to recognize what is really needed in families, communities, and countries because generic use of devices and platforms is assumed (Srinivasan 2019). The fact that only a very limited number of people across the globe were enabled to inhabit these infrastructures in 1996 — almost all of whom resided in hegemonic geographies usually summarized within the term “Global North’ — does little to curb Barlow’s enthusiasm for global borderlessness, intercultural exchange, and unlimited freedom. Nor does Barlow mention that labor and natural resources have been and are being extracted from precisely the excluded places in order to construct the digital infrastructures. Of late, this has been explicitly termed “digital” or “data colonialism” (Couldry and Mejias 2019; Kwet 2019), suggesting that neocolonial expansions of Western infrastructures and economic influence are once again employing a form of imperialism that materially appropriates resources and invades sovereign communities. Whether intentional or not, a problematic construction of white innocence can be gleaned from the manifesto against this backdrop, which seeks to portray internet pioneers as new subjects of radical transformational struggles, breaking with the historicity of their own material privileges built on the same inequalities that were established through colonial extraction. Images such as “the internet as the final frontier” ultimately enable the narrative

7 Facebook's Free Basics program limits access to the internet — it offers free services only via its in-house apps, which then also later tie new users to its platforms, giving the company privileged access to the data stream of trillions of new users in the Global South.

of the white subject of progress as the central actor in the writing of history, without addressing the repressions and dispossessions that accompany this historical construction of privilege.

Thus, Barlow’s Declaration of Independence must be understood as part of a forming dispositif that posited information and thus, to some extent, knowledge itself as objective, disembodied, and yet as agential, albeit with its own volitional power of dissemination without containment or container. In such an understanding, information can be free, because it detaches itself from the bodies necessary to make data into knowledge. Information paves its way like water, a naturalization of knowledge and its equation with information, which would come to inform the technosolutionism of today, equal to sayings such as “data is the new oil” that expropriate data from the bodies it emerges from. Barlow’s manifesto is thus a first document that codifies the conflation of data, information, and knowledge as objective and universal, thus spearheading a shift that would propagate technologies as determinant and as superior to ideological, situated dispositions, rearticulating an objective technological “view from nowhere” or “God trick” that had been criticized in feminist epistemologies of science and technology in a prominent manner just years before (Haraway 1988).

In this way, Barlow’s manifesto can maintain its egalitarian ambition only as long as it does not restrict a certain position that is believed to be universal. This is not only the case because internet pioneers around him were largely white men from the US middle classes, even though, certainly, this overrepresentation is already somewhat problematic. The model of Western progressivist economics evolving at the time inscribed itself into the internet infrastructure as norm. It told a story of enlightenment and rationality, overrepresented in the figure of man as the aspirational human. It also cut ties with all the problematic notions that had positioned this figure as the agent of progress, with the violence and exploitation that was inherent to past and ongoing accumulation and infrastructure-building; the bodies needed to build and legitimize the internet were effectively negated access to its benefits.

The Internet as the “Final Frontier”: Barlow’s Constructions of White Innocence

These early internet “pioneers” — note the colonial evocation in their self-positioning as explorers of a virtual terra nullius— claimed to be the revolutionary opposition to a violent regime that cyberlibertarianism declared temporally obsolete and morally corrupt. They were referring to the nation-state model with its regulations and top-down hierarchies, which was proclaimed as the enemy, in an evocation of anticolonial pushes toward independence that had been central struggles across the globe in the long years preceding Barlow’s manifesto.

Barlow's language in the manifesto appeals to motifs that can thus be understood as both anti- and neocolonial. He criticizes the Telecommunications Act for “declar[ing] ideas to be another industrial product, no more noble than pig iron” (Barlow 1996, n.p.), addressing and potentially critiquing an extractivist understanding of data that processes information only for capitalist value creation. In doing so, however, he undercuts the material realities that were already necessary at the time to allow the internet to appear at all as a boundless and dematerialized hyperreality. These were by no means unknown. As early as 1985, Donna Haraway speaks of the “nimble finger[s] of ‘oriental’ women” (Haraway 2016, 14) in her famous Cyborg Manifesto, referring to the predominantly feminized and racialized composition of early tech workers assembling the first microchips and semiconductors. Lisa Nakamura (2014) has traced how this labor was constructed as naturally feminine, so that semiconductor manufacturer Fairchild could position its factories within the land of Indigenous populations and thus be subject to favorable tax regulations, leading to the employment of predominantly Indigenous women who would go on to work under dangerous conditions. Nakamura concludes that the tech infrastructure was predominantly constructed by Black and Indigenous women from the 1950s until well into the 1990s. These demographics, too, correspond to those who to this day are least able to benefit from these technologies because they are denied access by material conditions or repressive policies, sometimes within their own families. To date, the landscape of tech workers is precarious and highly racialized. Women and queers, predominantly located on the Asian continent,® assemble computers and smartphones and also take on the work of maintenance and upkeep, for example, as content moderators, who often spend hours exposed to traumatizing depictions of violence. That the increasing ubiquity of server farms and personal devices requires extractivist mining infrastructures to obtain the expensive precious metals processed in these devices and infrastructures shows that the internet cannot depart from the necessities of the material world, but is dependent on its infrastructure and based on its exploitation (Gabrys 2011; Parikka 2015). The networking of the world via the supposedly immaterial internet serves the same trade routes that were once used by slave ships to transport Black bodies across the Atlantic; here, too, raw materials flow from the once colonized countries to the West, where profit margins then grow exponentially, without returns flowing back to the countries of origin.? Barlow’s manifesto thus withholds that raw and precious metals are part of the infrastructure of his new virtual world. Freedom of expression and the circulation of ideas under capitalism has always been characterized by a skew in which piracy

8 This geography, too, is bound to change if we consider recent research that has pointed out the role refugees are increasingly playing within data training and microwork (Jones 2020).

9 On the user side, too, the internet is a Western-centric place that contains mainly English-language content, even if the number of consumers is steadily rising, especially in Russia and Asia. The fact that women and queers, in particular, suffer from internet censorship and even withdraw from this space in the face of great hatred — often unfounded and disproportionate — is proven not only by journalistic reports and activist reports but also by studies such as that of the American Salty Mag. In two large-scale surveys in 2017 and 2019, Salty Mag found that content about femme, nonbinary, queer, and trans presenting people is perceived as transgressive significantly more often than content about white men. Images and videos are more often deleted for “violations of community guidelines” if they are identified as depicting such bodies, while hate speech explicitly directed at these people can often persist longer than the posts that trigger it.